


brought it back

by gravitycentered



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Masturbation, Other, Please read the notes!, Sexswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitycentered/pseuds/gravitycentered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They’re only a week into the American leg of the tour when it happens.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Louis wakes up without his cock and finds it bloody impossible to have an orgasm in such an unfamiliar body. Harry is very curious about what it'd feel like. They work something out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brought it back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zouis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouis/gifts).



> I'M SORRY IT'S SO LATE SAM BUT I FINALLY FINISHED THIS!!! 
> 
> something important to note: this is for the girldirection exchange, but **there are no girls in this fic**. the reason for this is that it's a _sexswap_ , not a _cisswap_ \- in fandom, sexswap has commonly been referred to as "woke up as a girl" fic until recently, so it was included under the umbrella for this exchange. the mods okayed the fic for the exchange, but i want to emphasize that both the mods and i know that this fic has nothing to do with girls, just with vaginas. 
> 
> as is standard with sexswap, there's a bit of dysphoria here, but (in my opinion) it's more about learning how to work with these new temporary parts rather than feeling truly uncomfortable or unhappy. there's some anxiety/frustration about it, so if these things upset you it might be best to skip this fic. 
> 
> that said, one million thanks to nika for helping me with this and assuring me it wasn't awful, as well as rian and jackson especially for talking through the idea with me to make sure it was handled appropriately/sensitively ♥ 
> 
> also, think of this as sort of... biologically based magical realism.
> 
> SO SAM. i hope u enjoy!!!!!! also sorry for the lack of boobs thing, i hope it doesn't take away from the fic too much (but you can pretend he has them anyway aha). ♥

They’re only a week into the American leg of the tour when it happens. 

Louis’ been suspicious for days; it began with a gentle but insistent tugging in his groin that wasn’t arousal, and ended the night before with him frowning down at his cock, hard in his fist, wondering if it’d gotten smaller. He notices the second he stirs awake in the morning, the absence of any weight between his legs, and he feels himself panic. 

The only other person in his family it’s happened to is Phoebe, and that was ages ago. He’d just entered his teenage years and was exceedingly uncomfortable with the way everyone would catch her shoving her hand into her elastic-waisted trousers as a toddler, curious about the new willy she’d acquired. It only lasted for a few days for her, almost correlating to her age, the physician had said, and only advised his mum to keep an eye out for the other children in the rare but possible case of one of them going through an episode as well. 

As a midwife, his mum had made him very aware of the possibilities in the most straightforward way she could, using all sorts of hypothetical language — _if_ it happens, _if_ you want to be intimate with someone during that time, _if_ it lasts longer than 3 months — with a heartfelt plea afterward to please tell her if he ever experienced anything. 

Louis considers texting her now, just to quell the mercurial fear that’s boiling in his belly, but he can’t make himself pick up his phone. He breathes through his nose and avoids touching any part of himself with his hands until he can no longer feel his heart beating in his throat. When it seems safe, he cups a hand between his legs. 

His bladder is full from a long night’s sleep and he needs to get to the loo, but he lets himself _feel_ for a moment first, the heat of his own body that’s like a stranger’s. It comforts him to know it’s temporary, almost never lasting more than a few weeks, and his pulse eventually slows to a normal speed. It’s only then that he notices how quiet the bus is, how there’s no humming engine or chatter from the back, and he figures he must be late if everyone’s left already. 

Bizarrely, he feels thrown off balance when he stands. Besides the fact that his cock is gone, nothing else is immediately different except his center of gravity, like his entire body’s accommodating his new cunt. The thought of it sends another spike of panic through him, the harshness of the word, _my cunt_ , and he has to brace himself along the wall of bunks on the way to the bus toilet. 

Catching his own eye in the tiny mirror above the sink, Louis stares. He doesn’t look different whatsoever. The stubble on his jaw and chin is just as long as it is every morning after the growth creeps in through the night, his face is just as sharp, chest just as flat. They’re all things that he logically knows might remain the same when you switch, but it still gives him more peace of mind, looking at himself and thinking that if he can’t tell, no one else will be able to, either. Even as he sits down to wee, acknowledging the change explicitly, he thinks to himself that he can keep this quiet until he’s switched back and no one will have ever noticed. 

-

The day hasn’t gone well. All of the lads stare at him when he finally shows up inside the dressing room, freshly shaven; the ritual had soothed him enough that he felt nearly normal walking into the venue, but their faces send him right back into his nerves. Liam speaks up first, asking if he feels alright, and Louis shrugs him off, “Yeah, just slept too much.” 

After a tense soundcheck and his best efforts to avoid the band, Harry shoulders his way past the techs Louis’ been hiding behind and asks, “What’s wrong?” 

He replies to Harry like he has to everyone else. “Nothing?” 

“You look poorly,” Harry insists. He weaves his way through the stream of people walking past them and leans against the wall next to Louis, frowning at him. 

“All I’ve heard from you lot all day is how I look like shit,” Louis says, a bit sullen. 

“It’s not that. You’re, like— you’re jittery. Look like you’re about to vom any minute. Just wanna make sure you’re alright to go on.” 

“I’m—” Louis starts; he nearly finishes with _fine_ , but he isn’t. He’s got a belly full of rocks, so nervous to stand in front of a stadium full of people who’ll be watching his body for nearly two hours straight, people with eyes like hawks, people who would probably out him in a moment if they figure out he’s switched. He desperately doesn’t want to perform. When he notices Harry staring at him, growing more concerned, he says, “I’ll tell you later.” 

“Alright,” Harry says, voice placid but face still unconvinced. 

-

The show is both better and worse than anticipated. Louis still feels the excitement thrumming in his chest when the new songs come up in the setlist, a mindless pumping of adrenaline. Still, he spends what feels like half the show sitting down, bent forward with his arms resting on his knees to hide his crotch from view as if the audience can sense the absence between his legs. Liam brings him water and Niall perches beside him for long stretches at a time, his elbow jostling Louis’ arm every time he strums, and he can feel Harry’s eyes on him. 

-

He’s lying on the pullout bed in the back checking Twitter — relieved that everyone is tweeting him to feel better soon rather than claiming exclusive knowledge on the state of his genitals — when Harry climbs onto the bus. It’s past 1am but Harry’s dressed like he’s going out, looking a bit sticky in the humid heat. 

“Where’re you headed?” Louis asks. 

“My flight’s in a couple hours,” Harry says, squeezing in between Louis and the backrest of the pullout. Louis rolls onto his belly to give Harry more room, propping himself up on his elbows. “What was up tonight?” 

Louis sighs. Since the terror of preparing for the show has dissipated, he regrets promising to fill Harry in. It seems like it’ll be easier to come right out with it, like ripping off a plaster, so he says, “I switched.” 

“Okay,” Harry says calmly, like he understands. Then, “Switched what?” 

“Like… switched,” Louis repeats. “Like. Haven’t got a cock at the moment. That kinda switched.” 

This time Harry’s silent for a moment, and his face is blank. Louis feels a bit queasy waiting for him to speak. He eventually says, “Shit. Really?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Woke up like that this morning.” 

“Shit,” Harry says again, “but are you— are you actually alright?” 

Louis still doesn’t feel particularly _alright_ , but having confessed it to someone has left him considerably less burdened. “I’m okay, I guess. Was fuckin’ terrified for the show, though. I thought they’d be able to tell.” 

“You can’t tell,” Harry assures him. “Not unless you wave your willy around. Or… don’t, as it were,” he says, gesturing vaguely to Louis’ lower half. 

Amused despite himself, Louis says, “You used to be much more sensitive about serious issues, Harry.” 

“I’m still trying to process this!” Harry argues, though he still adds, “Sorry.” 

“ _You’re_ trying to process it, Jesus,” Louis laughs. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Harry mimes zipping his lips, keeping them pursed for a moment afterward, and Louis rolls his eyes. He knows Harry’s got questions (he had plenty of his own before it’d happened to him, after Googling what switching was like), but he doesn’t voice any of them, instead pulling Louis’ phone out of his slack hand. Louis watches him search ‘length flight seattle la’, scrolling through the results until he finds an answer. 

“When’re you leaving?” Louis asks. 

“4-ish? Should be there just after 6,” Harry answers. “You wanna come?” 

“Nah,” Louis replies. 

They’ve got ten days until the next show and Louis hasn’t decided what he’s doing in the interim; going back to London sounds almost stifling somehow, the thought of now either keeping this secret from his family or telling them equally uncomfortable. Niall’s headed to Ireland in the morning, he knows, and Liam’s said he’s staying in the States with Sophia, and there wasn’t exactly an invitation to join either of them when they talked about their plans. 

He’s considered LA for himself, having grown more attached after the weeks they spent working on the album. It was a bit of a whirlwind then, half his days and all of his nights spent trying to get out of his own head after Eleanor and Zayn. He’s more settled now, he thinks, those months of icy silence toward the both of them finally bleeding into a text every now and then, all the rage burnt out of him. LA makes him think of the buzz of tattoo guns and strangers’ sweat on his skin, and he wants to go back and experience the city again for real, now that he’s learned how to be alone. 

“You know what? Fuck it,” he says. “I do wanna come.” 

-

No one is waiting for them at the airport when they arrive, and that simple relief sucks the rest of Louis’ energy from him; he’s exhausted from the day itself and from staying up all night, minus the hour of rest he caught with his forehead against the plane’s cold window. Harry doesn’t offer his home to Louis and Louis doesn’t ask for a place to stay, but they both get in the back of the same car without discussion. The sky is already pinking up, leaving Louis disoriented, feeling detached from time - the last thing he’s interested in doing at the minute is finding a hotel.

Harry’s house is expansive, full of huge windows that light up the rooms when they stumble their way inside, bags on their shoulders. “All the bedrooms on the second floor have beds made up,” Harry tells him. “Take any you like.” 

“Cheers,” Louis sighs. He claps Harry on the back and trudges towards the steps, “See you in 48 hours, mate.” 

He’s never had a chance to properly snoop through all of the rooms in Harry’s house, mostly sticking to the pool and gardens outside the few times he’s visited, but he’s too tired to look around now. Without bothering to check the others, he steps into the first bedroom on his right and drops his bags to the floor before climbing into bed fully clothed. 

-

Louis wakes up at 3:47pm, still missing his cock. The anxiety seeps back in for a moment but he actively pushes it away, wanting to enjoy the feathertop mattress Harry’s equipped his guestrooms with. It’s still bright outside, light peeking in through the cracks around the curtains, and Louis can feel how twisted his clothes are from him shifting in his sleep for so many hours. 

A shower feels like a necessity at this point, but Louis’ not been naked in this body beyond the few seconds it took to change clothes yesterday. The idea of touching himself, even to get clean, sends a gentle spark of panic through him, so he combats it by pushing a hand into his trackies and cupping himself over his pants again. The warmth of his hand between his legs seems illicit, like it’s something he shouldn’t be feeling; that spark doesn’t die after a long moment, instead building into what he recognizes as arousal. 

Louis sighs. There’s no reason he shouldn’t— it’s normal, he’s read, to want to ‘explore your new body’, temporary as it may be. He’s seen the success stories and horror stories both, of men disappointed by their typical orgasms after achieving one with a clit involved, or men using the opportunity to bond with their partners, or men going off the rails with casual sex, driven to addiction and left horribly empty after their cocks returned. Perhaps if he had a partner, or was just a normal bloke who could afford to fuck around with strangers like this, he might fret over those possibilities. All he’s got to worry about is being dissatisfied with his cock whenever it decides to show back up. He sucks in a breath and gives himself a measured rub. 

Honestly, it’s a bit weird. It feels good, the way giving his cock a squeeze feels good, but it’s foreign. After a few slow rubs around where he’s sure his clit must be, Louis is breathing quicker but finds himself getting distracted. He’ll have to relearn how to wank in such a short time frame; by the time he’s gotten it down, he’ll probably have his cock back. His bladder’s full to bursting and he feels close to weeing himself with every rub, and the band of his pants is digging painfully into his hipbone. It doesn’t seem quite worth it. 

With another sigh, this time a little shakier, Louis pulls himself out of bed to search the house for a shower. 

-

After he’s showered and dressed, he finds Harry on the patio holding a water bottle dripping with condensation against his temple while he texts one-handed. There’s still hours of daylight left but the sun’s started swinging back towards the horizon, elongating the shadows of the patio furniture. Harry doesn’t look up until after he’s finished his text and Louis’ settled on the cushioned bench next to him, smiling then. 

“Sleep well?” he asks, tucking his phone under his thigh. 

“Really well,” Louis admits. Harry’s sweating, dark patches of it sticking his shirt to his skin, his hair frizzing out of its bun. “D’you just work out or summat?” 

“Yeah. Got a bit hot,” Harry says, shaking the water bottle around before rolling it over his forehead, letting droplets of water slide down the bridge of his nose. 

“Probably cool you off quicker to drink that,” Louis says. 

Harry argues, “Feels too nice,” but pulls the bottle away from his skin to take a long drink anyway, puffing out his cheeks with it while he puts the cap back in place and ending his swallow with a pleased _ahh_. He asks, “You doing anything tonight?” 

“I was gonna look for a hotel for a few days. Get out of your hair,” Louis shrugs. 

“You’re not in my hair,” Harry insists, resting his arm along the back of the bench. Louis can feel the heat coming from him. “Stay as long as you like.” 

“Dunno. Kinda just feel like laying low for a bit. Til I’m— well,” he says, gesturing vaguely. He figures Harry can guess. 

“The guest house is yours if you want it, or the room you were in. I won’t bother you,” Harry offers. “You’re alright, though?” 

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. He slumps down until he can lean his head against Harry’s forearm on the bench’s back. He takes a moment to look out at the view from Harry’s patio, the rocky sloping hills and dull green shrubbery, before he says, “It’s weird, man.” 

Harry is silent for a while, tapping the water bottle against his knee; Louis notices Harry staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps looking straight ahead. Eventually, Harry says, “Can I ask you a personal question?” 

“Oh, god,” Louis laughs. He scrubs a hand over his face and tilts his head to look at Harry, “Let’s have it, then. Surprised you lasted this long.” 

Harry doesn’t take the bait, just asks, “So, have you, like. Have you gotten off yet? Like this?” 

“Nope,” Louis says. 

“Oh,” Harry replies. He visibly deflates, frowning a bit. 

Louis can’t hide his amusement, letting out half a laugh, “I feel like I just literally watched the life drain out of you. Why are you so upset I haven’t wanked yet?” 

“That honestly wasn’t even my question, that was only the _set up_ to my question. I just assumed you’d say yes,” Harry says sadly. 

“What was your real question, then?” 

“I just wanna know what it’s like,” Harry shrugs. 

Louis raises an eyebrow, “I reckon you’ve been with enough girls to know what it’s like, Harry. Don’t need me to tell you.” 

“You’re not a girl,” Harry argues. “I wanna know the differences, like, to hear what it’s like from someone who usually has a dick but now has, you know.” 

“A pussy?” Louis asks, testing how the word feels in his mouth. He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes drop to his lips when he says it. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, letting Louis be crude for him. “Gonna have to give me the important details once you get around to it.” 

Without thinking, Louis says, “Dunno if I will get around to it.” 

Harry gives him an incredulous look. “Why would you not? It’s literally the first thing I’d do.” 

“You’d think that til it happens,” Louis insists. He says again, “It’s _weird_.” 

“Course it’s weird. Doesn’t mean you can’t have an orgasm. Wank it out,” Harry jokes. Louis just huffs out a laugh, so Harry continues on after a pause, “Honestly, I’d find someone to get off with who wouldn’t be weird about it.” 

Louis laughs again, a more resigned one than the first. “Bit difficult. I haven’t even told anyone.” 

“You told me,” Harry says. Louis can feel the muscles in his forearm flex under his head when Harry shrugs. 

It feels too close to an invitation for Louis to let it slide. “Harry,” he warns, lifting his head to look at him properly. Harry doesn’t look back, staring out at the city as he sips from his water bottle. 

-

Harry doesn’t bring it up again all day. They spend the remaining daylight in the pool until Harry gets a text inviting him to go out; Louis waves him away, says he’ll be fine on his own as long as Harry trusts him not to burn anything down. He leaves at sunset; Louis makes himself a couple of sandwiches for lunch — or dinner — and sits in front of the telly for hours, relishing in the quiet around him and the laziness of the day. 

It’s just gone midnight when Harry sends him a text, _I’ll be back in a bit, but please lock the doors if you go to bed. x_ , so Louis sets about doing it, just to get it out of the way. He uses the opportunity to explore Harry’s house properly for the first time, peeking into drawers and cabinets and finding nothing of interest. After he’s closed and locked the sliding glass door leading out to the pool, he ventures upstairs to check out the bedrooms. 

All of the rooms are done up in subtly different color schemes, relatively bland but comfortably furnished. There’s three of them on the second floor; the one he slept in last night calls to him still, the cream and burnt orange duvet crumpled to the side of the bed. Louis flops onto the mattress and sighs, wonders if he could fall back asleep already after only being awake for 8 hours. 

He could call his mum, he thinks. She’d probably be awake by now, so many timezones ahead of him. He reckons he’d blurt out that he’s switched if he hears her voice, though, and he’s still hoping he can make it through the whole thing without any knowing. Anyone but Harry. 

The choice to touch himself doesn’t even feel like his own when he sits up to pull his shirt off. It feels like Harry’s, his disbelief and curiosity pushing Louis to drag a fingertip over his left nipple, just to see if he’s more responsive than usual. He isn’t, he thinks. It just tightens up at his touch like they always have, a bit more sensitive than other blokes he knows. It feels silly to touch himself like he usually does during a wank, as if someone is observing him and the way he touches this foreign body, but he pushes past the discomfort and takes his time with it. 

He starts properly, like he didn’t when he woke up, rubbing over both his nipples until they’re hard and he feels the ghost of a shiver under his skin. The building arousal feels much the same, like a sort of rolling static between his legs, but it’s bizarre to not feel his cock starting to stir by now. Instead, his body clenches down on nothing when he pinches a nipple, seeking some kind of pressure. Louis unzips his jeans and pushes both them and his pants down his thighs; the lights are still on in the room and it’s surreal to look down and see nothing, no physical proof of his arousal. 

The proof is there, of course, found in the bit of slick he feels. It’s the first time he’s touched his bare skin since switching, and that in itself overwhelms him — he’s hyperaware of himself from both sides, the fingers at his cunt and the cunt under his fingers. After years of wanking he’s trained himself to ignore what his hand feels and only give notice to what his cock feels, but it’s too unfamiliar to block out now. 

Touching his clit bare is nearly painful. He rubs too roughly and shocks himself with how his body reacts, sucking a gasp out of his lungs and jerking his hand away from himself before he can think about it. The second try, much lighter than the first, still makes him squirm; the intensity of it is surprising, like lighting a fuse that sparks all the way down to the soles of his feet with every touch. Louis can’t make himself stay there for long, instead slipping a finger down to actually ease inside of himself. 

He’s properly wet now, enough that it’s easy to push one finger into himself. It feels good, mostly, but his brain focuses disproportionately on the slick cunt around his finger rather than the other way around. Louis stretches to sink that finger in deeper and sighs at the feeling of himself tightening around it, glad to find something pleasurable. 

After a few moments of thrusting and probing around, though, Louis is sure he can’t find his g-spot. Switches have them, he knows, from both his mum’s talks and his embarrassingly extensive online research, but nothing inside himself feels different the way he’s used to it feeling in the girls he’s fucked. It’s _nice_ but not enough to make him come, this gentle stroking of one finger, and he wishes again that he could simply go on the pull and find someone to take care of it for him. It’d be much easier if he could just let himself relax, let someone else learn how to touch him and make him come. 

The thought only serves to frustrate him, making him feel a bit useless; he pulls his finger out and carelessly wipes it on his hip, staring petulantly up at the ceiling. Harry’s chatter about wanting to know what it’s like, how it compares, has him thinking that he’s missing out on something by not being able to come. Not that he _can’t_ come — Louis is sure he could, if he wanted to put the effort in — but that he’s too annoyed to try, not used to touching these kinds of parts from this angle and feeling the effects on his own body. The fact that he knows he can bring _other_ people with the same parts to orgasm leaves him more gutted than anything. How can he manage to read other people’s bodies better than his own? 

Sighing, Louis lifts his hips and tugs his pants and jeans back up. He doesn’t bother with his shirt, just heads downstairs to find his phone and grab a water bottle, maybe, zipping his jeans on the way down the stairs. 

-

Harry is sitting on a stool across from Louis at the hideously orange amoeba-shaped island counter in the bright kitchen, staring. After he’s managed three more spoonfuls of cereal, Louis snaps, “What?” 

Harry merely blinks. “Are you upset because I went out yesterday?” 

“The fuck are you on about?” Louis sighs. 

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Harry shrugs, biting into his buttered toast. Pushing the food to the inside of one cheek, he continues, “You’ve been snippy with me.” 

“I see you _constantly_ , Harry, you can leave me alone whenever you like. I’m not cross.” He takes a larger mouthful of cereal and crunches a cluster of nuts between his teeth. 

“What is it, then?” 

Louis breathes out another sigh through his nose, swallowing slowly. “Didn’t sleep well. And I miss my cock, to be frank about it. This thing’s a bit useless to me.” 

“I figured you’d have a bit of fun with it while I was gone, actually,” Harry admits. He gives Louis a cheeky look, eyebrows raised, and takes another bite of toast. 

“Fuck off,” Louis says, consciously pulling the heat out of his voice. 

“Did it not go well?” Harry asks. He shoves the remaining toast in his mouth and brushes the crumbs off of his shirt, watching Louis intently with his mouth stuffed full. 

“I’m not discussing this while I eat breakfast,” Louis says, shoveling the last heaping spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Even as he chews he realizes that he _wants_ to talk about it, wants to complain out loud to someone else rather than inside his own head. When he swallows, quicker than Harry, he sighs, “Dunno what the issue is, mate. Feels like I can’t, like, get going.” 

Still leisurely chewing, Harry takes a second to ask, “Well, what’d you do?” 

Louis rolls his eyes before he can help it, dropping the spoon back into the bowl. “What do you think I did? I tried to get myself off.” 

“Obviously, but, like,” Harry starts, reaching for his oversized water bottle, “did you work up to it?” 

“Yes, I engaged in a bit of foreplay with myself. It was my first time and I was very gentle,” Louis says dryly, ignoring the heat starting to burn in his cheeks. 

After a long drink, Harry asks, “Did you get wet?” 

Louis nearly doesn’t answer, staring down at the stray cornflakes floating in his bowl of milk. Eventually, he says, “Yeah.” 

“How did it feel?” Harry asks. His voice is conversational, like the topic is just idle chatter for him, but Louis can see sense how sharp his gaze is, remembers him being so curious the day before. 

“It felt fine,” Louis admits; he stands to escape Harry’s stare, picking up his bowl and carrying it to the sink. As he pours the milk down the drain, he sighs, “It felt good, it was just— a bit like touching myself and someone else at the same time. Fucking confusing.” 

“You’re thinking way too hard about this,” Harry says softly, his voice close. Louis feels a hand squeeze the back of his neck as he turns on the faucet to rinse his bowl. 

“Harry,” he mumbles, turning his head enough to see Harry’s outline in his periphery. 

“Did you touch your clit?” Harry asks him. 

It feels dangerous to answer. Louis sets his empty dish in the sink and turns off the water, staring down at the stainless steel. “It’s too sensitive.” 

Harry’s thumb presses lightly against the base of his skull when he replies, “You just have to be more gentle.” 

“I _know_ that,” Louis says, a bit snappy again even as his head drops forward. The tips of Harry’s fingers slowly crawl their way up into his hair, nails gentle against his scalp. 

He can feel the heat of Harry’s body before he makes contact anywhere, lips closer to Louis’ ear now when he murmurs, “What’s it feel like?” 

Louis remembers the last time he had Harry’s cock in his mouth, years ago, before El, the way he’d jerk away from Louis when he kept sucking after he came. “Like when you come and keep touching that one spot, like. The one spot just under the head and it hurts, it’s so sensitive. Except all the time.” 

“Quite like that spot,” Harry tells him, dipping his head to kiss the side of Louis’ neck. Louis grips the edge of the countertop tightly, huffing out a quick, quiet breath through his nose. 

“Harry,” Louis says again, weakly this time, tipping his head to the side. 

“Let me help you,” Harry offers, speaking into his skin. He slides his hand out of Louis’ hair and curls it around his hip, fingertips sneaking underneath the waistband of his trackies like he’s already gotten permission. 

Louis can’t think of a reason to say no. He doesn’t speak as Harry’s body curves around his more fully, instead listening to his own breathing go ragged; Harry doesn’t say anything else, either, leaving a series of light kisses along Louis’ neck until they reach his ear. He stays there, lips pressed to the lobe as he slides his hand into Louis’ trackies, fingers seeking out his clit over the flimsy cotton of his briefs. 

The touch is dulled by the cloth between their skin but Harry’s first rub still takes him by surprise, making him jerk his hips back away from Harry’s hand and into his groin instead. “Calm down,” Harry murmurs into his temple, pressing his other hand firmly against Louis’ belly to keep him close. 

“Shit,” Louis whispers, staring at where his knuckles have gone white from holding the counter so tightly. 

“Calm down,” Harry repeats, his fingertips working in a gentle circle around Louis’ clit, knowing not to touch it full-on. Louis takes in a deep breath through his nose and tries to stay upright, his toes curling over themselves in his socks on Harry’s slippery kitchen floor. 

It’s already better than trying by himself. Louis can feel that Harry’s hunched over, the prickle of heat along his entire back where Harry’s pressed against him, but mostly he feels the easy, consuming pleasure between his legs. It’s distracting in the same way getting his first handjob was distracting, the slack-jawed inability to focus on where you should put your own hands when it’s not you wanking yourself off. He keeps his firmly on the counter, head tipping farther forward, and shivers when Harry kisses the back of his neck. 

“That’s alright, isn’t it?” Harry says, softly like he’s soothing something skittish. His fingers press more firmly, working in tighter circles, and Louis lets out a whine on the next exhale that he didn’t know he was holding in. “Feels good, yeah?” 

All Louis manages to get out is, “Fuck.” Harry’s got him held closely, his left hand still solid on Louis’ stomach to hold him up; he wants to lie down or sit down or bend over, but just ends up squirming slowly between Harry’s hands and back against his cock. 

“Yeah, you can move,” Harry encourages. He holds his hand still where it’s cupped over Louis’ cunt and grinds against his arse, giving his hips a push forward into Harry’s fingers. It makes him gasp and rock forward again on his own, chasing the feeling. Lower, Harry mumbles, “Do what feels good, don’t think about it.” 

Louis tries to take his advice. He ignores everything in his mind besides the steady pressure of Harry’s fingers on his clit and the hard line of Harry’s cock against the curve of his arse, pushing against him every time he drops his hips to rub against Harry’s hand. When Harry’s fingertips hit him at a new angle or a new speed, something new, Louis tightly grabs his wrist and moans, the sound high and breathless. 

“Like that,” he pants, sliding his hand down to push against the backs of Harry’s knuckles. 

“This?” Harry asks, rubbing him more quickly; Louis moves Harry’s hand until he feels that same jolt of pleasure again, better than before, knocking him forward. He just gasps in response, bracing his weight on his forearms. The groan he lets out echoes off the concave sink, louder than he’s used to hearing himself, and he feels his cheeks grow hotter. 

His orgasm, previously elusive, builds so quickly that it shocks him. He’s edged closer to coming by everything — how inappropriate it feels with the birds sweetly chirping outside Harry’s open kitchen window, how spontaneous, the fact that it’s _Harry_ with a hand between his legs, lips pressed to Louis’ neck. Louis whines his way through the increase in intensity, thighs coming together to squeeze Harry’s fingers tight between them. He’s not deterred, fingers working Louis’ clit despite the resistance, sucking gentle kisses into the skin behind Louis’ ear as he starts to come. 

It feels different. That initial punch of absolute relief when his muscles start to clench, usually only a few seconds long, stretches out into half a minute while Harry’s fingers keep rubbing him, leaving him shaking against the counter, thighs weak. He can feel his cunt tightening and he jerks his hips, both trying to escape the stimulation and wanting to keep it going, to see how long he could really have one orgasm last. It becomes too much very quickly, overstimulating him to the point of pain when one of Harry’s fingertips rubs right over his clit through his pants. Embarrassingly, he yelps, tugging at Harry’s wrist until he flattens his hand over Louis’ lower belly instead to let him catch his breath. 

Harry only gives him a second of peace before he’s rocking forward again, gently grinding his cock against Louis’ arse. He breathes out a laugh, shakily reaching up to push his fringe out of his eyes, and manages to say over his shoulder, “You’re gonna knock me over.” 

Without hesitation, Harry replies, “Let’s go lie down, then.” 

There’s a subtle plea in his voice that Louis hasn’t heard in a while. He stays where he is when Harry kisses the hinge of his jaw and the apple of his cheek, distracted by the pounding of his pulse in his clit. Just when Harry’s lips reach the corner of his mouth, Louis turns his head enough to look at him; he’s too close to come into focus, a big, blurry shape from this angle, hair draping down over Louis’ shoulder when Harry moves in fully and kisses his mouth. 

It’s been long enough since their last kiss that Louis can’t tell if it’s any different. His mouth is familiar but in a way that feels intrinsic, like something he’s always known rather than something he got to know a while ago and has since forgotten. Louis lets Harry’s hands guide him to turn around, moving carefully so he doesn’t lose his balance or break away from Harry’s mouth yet. They kiss slowly, catching up with the foreplay they skipped when Harry took it upon himself to pin Louis to the counter — he settles his hands on Harry’s body, one curled around the back of his neck while the other anchors itself on his hip. 

“Come to bed,” Harry mumbles again, more confidently now, his wide palms sliding up Louis’ back to cup his shoulderblades, pulling him in closer. 

Louis leans back, both against the counter and Harry’s hands, putting enough distance between them to actually see his face. He tries to tease, “What kind of girl do you take me for?” but the humor falls flat, thanks to his breathlessness. 

Harry just hums, dipping in again to kiss Louis’ chin. “Not much of a girl at all,” he says. His next kiss lands on Louis’ mouth, and he speaks right against his lips, “Doesn’t stop me from wanting to eat you out, though.” 

His body reacts even before he’s consciously processed the words, it seems; he feels another spark between his legs, a bit of surprised arousal, and he shifts restlessly against the counter. “I can’t— I’m too, it’s way too sensitive,” he says, tipping his head back to avoid looking at Harry’s face for a moment. 

“I’ll be really gentle,” Harry promises. Louis can feel Harry’s cock pressing against his belly when he twitches his hips forward. “It’ll feel better than this did.” 

“I’m… not doubting that,” Louis admits, blinking up at the ceiling. Harry’s staring at him, hands hot on his back. 

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” Harry says, still pitching his offer, using his extra few inches of height to lean over Louis and kiss his lips again, even with his head tilted back. 

Louis knows then that he’s already given in, as soon as he closes his eyes and tips his head back down to ease into the kiss. He moves both of his hands to Harry’s waist, ready to push him back and go to the bedroom, but it’s almost like Harry’s still trying to convince him. The kiss turns deep quickly with Harry’s guidance, Louis parting his lips just to keep up only for Harry to lick into his mouth, sliding their tongues together. It’s not as frantic as he thinks Harry must feel, slow and thorough, and he lets himself think of Harry’s tongue between his legs as he gently sucks at it, breathing out a quiet whine through his nose. 

“Please, Lou,” Harry sighs once he pulls back, licking his lips. 

“Not in the kitchen,” Louis jokes quietly, letting himself dip back in for one more quick kiss before he goes through with his original plan, lightly shoving Harry away from him. 

The most bizarre sensation Louis thinks he’s experienced throughout the entire switch thus far is being so wet that he can feel it when he walks, his skin slippery with it like he’s poured half a bottle of lube on himself. It makes him walk slower, trailing behind Harry, who he finds already stripping himself out of his shirt when Louis makes it to the bedroom. 

As he’s unbuttoning his jeans, Harry looks Louis over and walks deeper into the room, towards the bed. “C’mere.” He holds out a hand when Louis comes close enough, curling his fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulling it taut, “Can I take this off?”

“Nothing new under there,” Louis reports, raising his arms to let Harry pull it off of him, tossing it onto the floor on top of his own. 

“Shame,” Harry teases, brushing his fingertips over one of Louis’ nipples as he looks down his body. “You’d look good with a pair.” 

“Fuck off,” Louis says, mildly. He holds back a shiver but can’t stop the goosebumps that travel down his arms. 

Harry simply smiles at him, his knuckles dragging their way down Louis’ side, almost ticklish, until he reaches the elastic band of Louis’ trackies. He hooks his fingers underneath them and his pants at the same time, “These too?” 

The nerves rush in all at once, then. Louis swallows thickly, aware of the fact that no one else has seen him like this — not even _he’s_ seen his own cunt yet, barely even touched it. He hasn’t trimmed or shaved, doesn’t know if he should (or if he could); he can’t tell if he’s imagining it or if he can actually smell himself, wonders how strong it’ll be from between his legs. The curtains covering Harry’s massive window are half open, allowing a huge band of sunlight into the room to creep across the carpeted floor, leaving everything bright and visible, and the only thing Louis can think of that’s worse than letting Harry have the first look is walking out now before anything happens. 

So, he nods. He watches Harry slowly sink down to his knees, working Louis’ clothes over his hips until they fall easily on their own and he can step out of them. He has to brace himself with one hand on Harry’s head when Harry pulls off his socks as well, one by one, leaving him naked. 

“Sit,” Harry says softly, rubbing his hands down the outsides of Louis’ thighs. 

Louis sits at the edge of the bed, overly prim, heart hammering in chest. It feels ridiculous to keep his thighs together with Harry’s head at crotch level, knowing what they’re doing, but he does it — until Harry puts a hand on either knee and coaxes them open. He slides his hands higher up Louis’ thighs to gently push them further apart, until Louis feels the cool air of the room against his cunt and bites into his lip so hard that his mouth floods with saliva. 

They both take a look at the same time, getting used to the sight; Louis’ lips are a light, dusky brown, gradually fading into a darker pink towards the center when Harry uses his thumbs to smooth the hair back, spreading him open. Louis nearly chokes on a gasp, still looking down when his cunt clenches once, visibly, so slick that Harry’s thumbs are already shining with it. 

“S’pretty,” Harry murmurs. Louis’ eyes move to his face in time to see him lick his bottom lip, and he blows a piece of hair out of his eyes before he continues, “Got a pretty cock as well, m’not surprised.” 

Louis flushes but can’t find anything to say, breathing too quickly to care about bantering back. Instead, he tucks that stray piece of hair behind Harry’s ear, keeping a hand on the back of his head for somewhere to put it. His thighs are trembling from his orgasm and the specific effort of keeping them spread this wide, and he blinks in surprise when Harry stares up at him for a moment, slowly closing the distance between them. He’s got the warning, but it still feels like a shock when Harry’s eyes drift shut as he gives Louis his first, broad lick. 

Louis moans out loud and snaps his thighs closed as far as he can with Harry’s shoulders in the way. It feels _good_ , sort of like someone deepthroating you right from the start, a warm and wet heat against all the places he wants it at the same time. Harry seems unbothered by the grip of his thighs, blinking up at him, the color of his tongue matching Louis’ cunt, pink up against pink. His tongue’s much gentler than Louis expected against his clit, smooth and soft, and he lets himself whimper when Harry stays there to give him a series of lazy licks. 

It doesn’t feel like _too much_ anymore, it feels like— being sucked off, mostly, slow and steady, especially when Harry start to lick from his opening all the way up to his clit. It’s like being sucked off except better, more all-consuming, maybe. Louis understands now how someone could get addicted to this. 

He’s not all that quiet in bed in general, he thinks, but he’s positively noisy like this. Harry knows how to read him, sorting through every sound and using them to figure out what to do next. When he gives a little suck to Louis’ clit that makes him gasp, Harry does it again, a bit harder; when it works a second time, pulling a soft whine from him instead, he stays right where he is. Louis ends up holding Harry’s head in place while he sucks steadily on his clit, drawing it into his mouth in easy pulses and letting his tongue rub up against it. It leaves Louis moaning helplessly, sweat building behind his knees and all along his back. 

_I could come like this_ , he thinks at first, quickly amending it to _I’m_ going to _come like this_ , twisting his hips to try and outrun the pleasure, unable to catch his breath when Harry’s mouth follows him with every shift. He feels Harry’s hands leave him even as his sucking becomes firmer, and over his own whimper he’s distantly aware of the sound of Harry’s zipper being undone, finishing the job he was distracted from earlier. 

Harry’s hands don’t return, except the one that grips tight onto Louis’ ankle and stays there. Without being able to hold him open, he’s buried his face properly between Louis’ legs, pausing every few moments to pull back and suck in a breath, moving back in tongue-first to find Louis’ clit and suck it tight again. Louis feels rather than hears Harry’s groan, surprised into a gasp at how strong the low vibrations are against him; when he chances a look, he sees Harry’s fist moving quickly over his cock, catching only a peek between the tangle of all their limbs. 

Just the idea of it nudges Louis a little closer to orgasm, the thought that Harry’s getting off on making him come, maybe on the taste of his cunt or on the sounds he’s making. He wraps his fingers tightly around several locks of Harry’s hair and holds him in close when he tries to pull back for air again, quietly pleading down at him, “Don’t stop,” and shivers at the twin moans they let out together when Harry nods and moves back in, mouth open. He’s less careful now, sucking hard and sharp, just on the edge of overwhelming — Louis feels himself getting jumpy, hips twitching under Harry’s mouth, and he whines into the open room, dropping his head forward. 

He’s more prepared when he starts to come this time, ready to ride it out for as long as he can; he holds Harry’s head between his legs with both hands, nails digging into his scalp appreciatively when those vibrations from his groan work their way along his clit. This orgasm lasts longer, he thinks, working through him in waves that are quicker than the pulses of Harry’s mouth around him. 

They’re both loud by the time he starts shaking. Louis lets out an almost pained moan and pulls hard at Harry’s hair, dragging his mouth away, “No, no, no, stop,” too sensitive to take it anymore. Harry sucks in a quick breath and lets it back out in a shivery sigh, rubbing his wet face against the inside of Louis’ thigh and sinking his teeth into the muscle there, like his mouth still needs something to do. Louis tries to catch his own breath and pushes Harry’s hair out of his flushed face, watching his closed eyes and furrowed brows and the dark, slick head of his cock pushing through his fist. He becomes aware again of how this body clenches needily, like he wants something inside to clamp down on. 

Harry’s final groan is guttural, deep and muffled by Louis’ skin. He catches most of the come in his hand but makes a mess of himself anyway, using all of it to get his cock wet and stroke himself through the last of it, dripping onto his dark jeans. He pulls away from Louis’ thigh with a sloppy, obscene sound, letting go of his ankle to rub the spit away with his thumb; Louis’ surprised to see a dark red splotch framed by Harry’s teethmarks in that spot, looking angry enough that it may bloom into a bruise in the next few hours. 

Harry looks up first, mouth and chin still slick, come slipping between his fingers and onto the next knuckle down as he slows his hand to a stop, watching Louis’ face. Louis is almost afraid to move, not sure if his muscles will give out on him or not, but he wipes away the wetness from Harry’s chin with the back of his wrist and slowly leans down. He’s relieved when Harry rises up onto his knees, meeting him in the middle for a kiss. 

The second most surreal experience of the switch is tasting himself on Harry’s mouth. It’s different than his come, a bit tangier, almost, mild coming from someone else’s tongue. It’s not unpleasant. Harry doesn’t let the kiss linger long, still trying to get back the breath he lost from his orgasm. 

“So,” he prompts softly, lips brushing Louis’, “how was it? Different?” 

“Ah, fuck.” Louis sighs, attempting to sound sheepish, and lies, “I wasn’t paying much attention, not sure I could give a good comparison.” 

Harry braces his weight on Louis, forearms resting on his thighs, and leans in closer to knock their foreheads together. Playing along, he says, “Really? I don’t have to do that again, do I?” 

“Afraid so,” Louis says. He closes his thighs as much as he can with Harry still between them, and flushes when he feels the wet spot under his bum. 

“Shit,” Harry swears, quite emphatically. “Guess I’ve got to, then.” 

“I’ll focus this time,” Louis promises. 

“Got some other… experiments we could try,” Harry murmurs, tipping his chin forward for another kiss. “If you’re up for it.” 

Louis tries to keep his breathing even and gives a measured, considering hum, as if he really needs to think about it. Into Harry’s next kiss he says, “We’ll see.”


End file.
